


1938

by BucksomeBarnes (Freckled_Halos)



Series: The Before [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Steve Rogers, Break Up, Breaking Up & Making Up, Dancing and Singing, Date At Home, Difficult Decisions, Fights, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Guy's Night Out, Happy Ending, M/M, Making Out, Making Up, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Break Up, Questioning, Rain, Singing, Smoking, Snow, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 00:43:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15830247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freckled_Halos/pseuds/BucksomeBarnes
Summary: A new movie inspires Bucky to start singing around the apartment.Steve and Bucky spend the weekend together, but it doesn't end like either of them were expecting and they both have to deal with the consequences.





	1. Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Special shout out to @RighteousRiot for always being a spring board for ideas and just mushing over these two stupid soft boys. Sam, you always leave such wonderful comments and listen to my incoherent babbling about it. So thank you for that <3
> 
>  
> 
> In case you want the music to play along: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Yat0uuHYU0

WINTER 1938

 

Bucky sat patiently at the counter of the soda fountain on a chilly February Friday, nursing a malt shake and staring at the sundae he had ordered for Steve. It hadn’t started melting yet, but if Steve didn’t get there soon, Bucky was probably going to have to start eating it for him.

The bell at the door jingled and Bucky turned to see Steve stepping between tables, hair messy, clutching onto his brown school bag bursting with loose papers.  He approached the counter and sat heavily down into the stool next to Bucky, winded.

“Sorry I’m late…was tryin’ t’ finish that big project.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky said, “How’s it lookin?’”

Steve shrugged and peeled off his gloves. “Fine.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Steve,” Bucky replied, taking a sip of his shake. “I bet it looks like a million bucks.”

“Thanks,” Steve murmured, pulling the sundae glass closer and digging in.

“Hey, so, I know this is real last minute, but d’you have plans for tonight?”

“Why d’you ask?” Steve replied with a smirk.

Bucky pressed his lips together, trying to hide his smile. “ _Well_ , Becca’s convinced the whole family to go to the cinema tonight to see that new cartoon everyone’s talkin’ about and I was wonderin’ if you wanted to come with.”

Steve took a deep breath, pushing around his ice cream with a long spoon. “I dunno, Buck. I should really finish this project…”

“Ah, come on, Steve. You have the whole weekend to work on it, what’s two hours at the movies gonna hurt?”

Steve looked up at Bucky who was giving him a pouty look, big brown eyes wide and hopeful.  

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Steve scoffed, lighthearted.

“Why, ‘cause now you can’t say no?”

“That’s exactly right,” Steve laughed before sighing. “What time?”

Bucky smiled excitedly, answering, “The film starts at eight. You wanna just meet us there?”

“Yeah, alright,” Steve answered, grinning.

\--

A few hours later, Steve met the Barnes’ in front of the local theater, which was much more crowded than Steve was expecting (but his and Bucky’s hands still secretly clasped together in the darkness). The movie was an adaption of the Snow White fairy tale and was unlike any other cartoon Steve had ever seen. It was almost two hours long and was all hand painted in brilliant color. He understood why everyone had been talking about it.

The only downside was all the half-remembered songs that got stuck in his and Bucky’s head for weeks after. That said, Steve couldn’t help but smile to himself when he was running late in the mornings, Bucky sighing, “Someday my prince will come” in a sing-song voice as he waited for Steve by the front door.

The entire experience seemed to have awakened something in Bucky that Steve had only seen a few times before. He started singing. All the time. Everywhere. And each time, Steve got so overwhelmed with happiness and love, he had to put down whatever he was doing just to savor the moment. As if his looks, sense of humor, and charisma weren’t charming enough, Bucky had a beautiful natural singing voice and was an excellent dancer, even when an awkward Steve was his partner.

The Sunday morning a few days before Bucky’s birthday, a dark sky sprinkled cold rain all across Brooklyn, sequestering Bucky and Steve in his warm apartment. Steve was watching it pour outside the kitchen window, leaned up against the sink with a mug of coffee. It was chilly and Steve had on his thickest wool socks, one of Bucky’s sweaters, and flannel pajama pants.

There was a rustling in the doorway and Steve turned to see Bucky shuffling towards the stove, hair standing up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

“Morning, sugar,” he said quietly, watching Bucky get a mug and pour hot coffee into it. “You slept a little later than usual.”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky started, padding over behind Steve to put a hand on his hip. “Someone really wore me out last night.”

Steve smirked and Bucky ducked down to kiss his cheek, but Steve turned his head at the last second to catch Bucky’s lips with his own instead. Bucky hummed contentedly, sighing, wrapping an arm around Steve’s middle and taking a sip of coffee. After they quietly emptied their mugs, Bucky turned the radio on as Steve brought out his paints for a school assignment.

Bucky kept him company at the kitchen table, flipping through a Macy’s catalogue. He started humming mindlessly along with the radio, Steve pulling a small smile in response. Bucky’s hummed intro quickly turned to full lyrics and Steve amusedly glanced over at him.

Casually turning the pages of the catalogue, Bucky started, “ _Some day, when I’m awfully low, and the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you. And the way you look tonight_.”

Steve pressed his lips together, trying not to just sit there beaming like an idiot, but he couldn’t help it. Bucky noticed, but didn’t say anything, pursing his own lips and not making eye contact. 

“ _Oh, but you’re lovely, with your smile so warm, and your cheeks so soft, there is nothing for me, but to love you. Just the way you look tonight._ ”

Setting down his paintbrush, Steve moved to fold his hands atop the table, but Bucky grabbed them instead, pulling Steve reluctantly to his feet. His stomach flipped and he suddenly felt very embarrassed, blushing bright pink and averting his eyes. Instead of backing down, Bucky slipped a hand to the small of Steve’s back. 

“ _With each word your tenderness grows, tearing my fear apart._ ” Glancing down at Steve, Bucky squeezed at his waist, Steve squirming and trying not to laugh as Bucky continued, “ _And that laugh that wrinkles your nose, touches my foolish heart.”_

Looking Steve earnestly in the eyes in a way that made Steve weak in the knees, he casually started to sway back and forth, continuing, “ _Lovely, never, never change. Keep that breathless charm, won’t you please arrange it? ‘Cause I love you, just the way you look tonight._ ”

Bucky’s eyes positively glittered as he gazed at Steve, the most open and genuine expression of love on his face. Steve could still feel the heat in his face and ears, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Instead, he just laid his head lightly on Bucky’s chest as Bucky took a long breath in. He wrapped his arms tightly around Steve as the music faded and a new song started playing.

Once Steve’s face didn’t feel as flushed, he leaned back, grabbing at the front of Bucky’s shirt to pull him down into a deep kiss.

“You’re straight off the cob, aren’t you?” Steve whispered against Bucky’s mouth, grinning.  

“Just a little dizzy for you, dollface,” Bucky breathed back. “Always have been.”

Steve put his hands on either side of Bucky’s neck, bringing him closer so Steve could kiss at his cheeks and nose, dipping his hands under Bucky’s collar and scratching lightly at the hair on the back of his neck. Bucky sighed as Steve massaged his scalp, fingers moving in small circles.

Bending his knees, Bucky crossed his arms under Steve’s butt and stood, easily lifting him up as Steve wrapped his legs around Bucky’s waist. Looking down at him, Steve smiled and brushed dark bangs away from Bucky’s forehead. Steve searched into his eyes, trying to find the words to convey what he was feeling, but couldn’t come up with anything good enough.

“I know,” Bucky replied, smiling sadly. “I know.” 

 


	2. October

OCTOBER 1938

 

Steve heard the front door unlock and looked up from where he was reading on the sofa.

Bucky stepped heavily inside as Steve asked, “Hey, how was training tonight, Mister Welterweight Champion?”

“Fine,” Bucky grumbled, kicking off his shoes and stomping past Steve, down the hall, and into the bathroom.

Taking a deep breath in, Steve set his book aside and patiently waited for Bucky to come back out. He walked out, running wet hands roughly through his hair and leaning against the opposite wall. 

“What’s happened?” Steve asked, worried.  

“Nothing.”

“Buck.”

“It’s nothing, Steve.”

“You don’t really expect me to believe that, do you?”

Bucky let out a sigh that was more like a growl and pushed up from the wall to march into the kitchen.

“Hey,” Steve called, slipping off the sofa and following. “Don’t do that, what’s wrong?”

Sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, Bucky faltered, letting out a defeated breath. Steve moved to sit next to him, running his hand up and down Bucky’s warm back.

With his face still hidden, Bucky murmured, “A few of the guys from the Y are getting married next year.”

“And you’re jealous they’ll be off the market?” Steve joked, trying to ease the tension. 

Bucky looked up at him with red rimmed eyes and an insulted expression.

“Sorry,” Steve breathed quickly. “I’m sorry.”

Running the back of his hand roughly under his nose, Bucky looked away. “It’s just…not fair.”

“What’s not?” Steve asked, resuming his rubbing up and down Bucky’s back.

Steve could tell Bucky was trying not to let on how upset he really was as he turned his head fully away, chin trembling. “I can’t do this,” he finally said.  

“Don’t do that, Buck. Don’t shut me out,” Steve replied, more firm than he intended.

Bucky shook his head and stood up, the feet of his chair squealing against the wood floors as he turned on his heel and practically ran out of the kitchen. Steve sat quietly with himself, expecting to hear Bucky bounding down the hall to Steve’s bedroom and slamming the door shut, but it was the front door that opened instead, and before Steve could get to the living room to stop him, Bucky was gone.

\--

Wiping at his face, Bucky tried to calm himself down before opening the door to his parent’s house. After taking a deep breath, he stepped inside to see both his parents sitting in the living room, the radio on, as Mrs. Barnes mended a dress of Becca’s and Mr. Barnes smoked a cigar in his corner chair.

“Would you look at that, dear,” his dad started as Bucky passed the entry way, trying to sneak up the stairs. “I think we do really have a second child, who would’ve thought?”  

Bucky winced before forcing a neutral face as he turned around to face his parents. “Sorry I’ve been out a lot lately.”

“You’re your own man, James. And while I’m still disappointed you chose this job at the gunsmiths, you’re twenty one now and are more than capable of making your own poor decisions,” his father replied, smoke billowing out of his mouth.

Bucky pursed his lips at the backhanded comment, but didn’t say anything.

Mr. Barnes took the cigar out of his mouth, tapping it gently in the ashtray by his hand and stared intently at Bucky. “So, what’s her name?”

“What?” Bucky blurted out.

His father almost smiled. “Far as I see it, the only reason you’d be away from your mother’s ice box this often is that you got some other gal cookin’ for you now.”

Bucky opened his mouth, but nothing came out and he could feel his cheeks reddening.

“Sweetheart,” Mrs. Barnes interjected, setting her needle and thread aside. “We don’t want to embarrass you, we just want to know if there’s anyone we should meet…and if we need to prepare to pay for a wedding soon.”

“A wedd—” Bucky accidentally shouted, high pitched and incredulous. He cleared his throat and looked to his feet, pushing out a heavy breath and trying not to cry. Again.

Should he lie? Say there _was_ some dame he was spending so much time with just to satisfy his parents? No, that would lead to even more questions and even more lies that Bucky didn’t want to bite him in the ass later. Should he just say no and hope it didn’t bring up any other questions about where Bucky was all the time? But then would they try to push girls onto him? Try to set him up with old family friends like they’ve done before? The truth obviously wasn’t an option. Even if he said it innocently, that he and his pal Steve had just been spending a lot of time together, it would still look funny. And his parents would still ask if there was a girl that Bucky had his eyes on. 

“No need,” was all Bucky could get out before bounding up the stairs, two at a time, and locking himself in his bedroom.

\--

Part of Bucky didn’t want to meet Steve for sodas the following Friday, but he knew he needed to face him sooner or later. Steve didn’t do anything wrong and it wasn’t fair of Bucky to treat him like he had. That said, Bucky still wasn’t in any mood to talk about how he was feeling, so when Steve walked into the shop, crispy leaves rolling in with him, Bucky put on a happy face and shoved all the panic and fear deep down his throat.

“Hey,” Steve said, looking at Bucky with more empathy than he deserved.

“Hey.”

“You feeling better?” Steve asked, as they settled into their stools.

“Yeah.” Bucky forced himself to smile. Although he felt very much _not_ better, just looking at Steve and being around him and smelling him made the smile come a lot easier than Bucky was expecting.

Steve looked at him with big, kind eyes and slowly clasped Bucky on the shoulder, resisting the urge to run his hands through Bucky’s hair and down his back.

They ordered two floats and some fries, eating quietly together, trying not to look at the other too sweetly or for too long. Once finished, they began walking home. As the fork in the route to Steve’s and the Barnes’ loomed ahead, Bucky stopped, wringing his hands together.

His heart told him to go right, towards Steve’s, to spend any waking moment Bucky had on this earth with him. Holding him, inside him, just in the same room as him. But his head told him to go straight, towards his parents’, to forget about the butterflies he felt when he looked at Steve and push aside the soul-deep want to spend the rest of his life with him.

The rest of his life.

With Steve.

“You coming?” Steve asked carefully, tearing Bucky away from his thoughts and looking at him with those bright blue eyes, big dark brows raised in question.

Today, Bucky just couldn’t talk himself out of it, so he went right.

\--

Turns out, Bucky just couldn’t talk himself out of it very frequently and he spent the following weeks flip-flopping between being with Steve, oblivious to the outside world, the happiest he’d ever been and balled up in his bed at home, sobbing, repeatedly coming to the excruciating conclusion that he needed to break up with Steve. Permanently.

Regardless of how he was feeling currently, he was planning on spending the entire weekend at Steve’s. He even took Saturday off work. It was the two year anniversary of Sarah’s death and Steve didn’t want to be alone, so Bucky packed a light bag and walked straight there from the gunsmiths on Friday like they had agreed upon. Bucky was tired. Tired from the week of impossible repairs and horrible customers, tired from his mother still badgering him about girls, and tired from crying over Steve every other night.

As soon as Steve opened the front door to let Bucky in, all of his worry and angst melted away.

The lights in the living room were switched off and a soft orange glow flickered through the kitchen doorway. Walking inside, Bucky finally got a good look at Steve and held his breath. He looked stunning in a crisp white button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He wore a tie and thin suspenders clipped onto pinstriped trousers which were sat high on his waist, making his legs look lovely and long. His hair was parted deep on one side and slicked down, one rogue tendril popping out to rest lightly on his forehead.

“Wow,” Bucky breathed, so quiet Steve thought he might have made it up. “Steve, you look…”

Blushing, Steve looked away as Bucky set his bag down.

“Is this why you asked me to pack somethin’ nice?” Bucky asked, clearing his throat.

“I figured just ‘cause we can’t go _out_ to some hoity-toity dinner place doesn’t mean we can’t have one here, right?”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. “You set this up? Just for us?”

“Well, yeah,” Steve replied, as if it was a ridiculous thing to ask. He stepped forward to wrap his arms around Bucky’s waist, sighing, “James Barnes, will you be my date tonight?”

He just looked at Steve, overwhelmed with feeling, almost wanting to start crying again right there. Instead, he put his hands on Steve’s face, brushing his thumbs slowly across Steve’s lips and cheeks.

“I’ll be your date every night, Steven Rogers.”

Steve smiled wide and pulled Bucky in, giving him a quick kiss before stepping back and slapping him on the ass. “Alright then, go get changed.”

Giving Bucky a wink and lingering smirk, Steve sauntered away into the kitchen as Bucky caught his breath. A little dazed, he moved his bag to the sofa and rifled through it, pulling out a tie and a sweater vest that hugged the hard curves of his muscles the way he knew Steve liked. Finding his dark, wide legged pants, Bucky went into the bathroom to change and wash the pistol grease from his hands. Smoothing his hair down, he looked at himself in the mirror and sighed sadly.

When he walked back into the kitchen, Steve was sitting at the opposite side of the table, the candlelight in between the place settings reflected in his eyes.

“What are we having tonight?” Bucky asked, easing into his chair.

Motioning at the full bowls in front of each of them, Steve dramatically answered, “For our first course, we have the finest bisque in New York, an original of the esteemed, Chef Campbell. The tomatoes were hand-picked off the vine and imported from Italy.”

“Ooh,” Bucky replied, playing along. “Sounds divine.”

Getting up, Steve took the lid off a pan sitting on the stove. “And for course two, pan fried potatoes served with sautéed sausage rounds.”

“Spuds and dogs?” Bucky said, smirking.

Steve shot him a fake glare as he sat back down. “Pan fried potatoes and sautéed sausage rounds.”

“Right, sorry,” Bucky pursed his lips, suppressing a smile. “And for dessert?”

Steve gave him a dark and mischievous look, eyes raking up and down Bucky’s face and chest. “Depends on how I’m feeling later.”

Bucky laughed as Steve smiled wide, picking up his spoon and starting in on his soup.

Dinner was fun and casual and felt like the most natural thing for either of them to be doing at that very moment. Their conversations were always easy. Bucky had never met anybody else he could just talk about nothing with or completely open himself up to like he could with Steve.

Bucky loved him.

Bucky loved Steve so much, it terrified him.

After cleaning up dinner, they both changed into their pajamas and settled onto the sofa, radio playing faintly in the darkness. Steve sat cross legged on one end, leaned back against the arm with Bucky’s head resting gently in his lap. Steve combed his fingers through Bucky’s hair, humming quietly to himself as Bucky’s eyelids got heavier and heavier.

“Buck?”

“Hm?”

“What’s the one thing you want to do before you die?”

Bucky smiled, brought back to the memory of lying next to this very sofa in the darkness, quietly asking Steve the same thing when he was thirteen.

 _Marry you_ , Bucky thought first. _Live life together without anyone looking at us funny or sending us to a looney bin._ _I want to not feel ashamed about something as wonderful as my love for you._ _I just want to be free._

“I dunno,” Bucky answered, keeping his eyes shut and trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “Own my own house, maybe? Be able to just make some little corner of the world all my own.”

“That’d be real nice,” Steve replied.

“What about you?”

Steve scratched lightly at the sides of Bucky’s head and let out a long breath. “I dunno. I guess I just want to make a difference, y’know? Leave the world a little better than it was when I was in it.”

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself,” Bucky answered, opening an eye to look up at the underside of Steve’s jaw.

“Maybe,” Steve sighed, brushing the backs of his fingers along Bucky’s forehead.  

“You’re too good, Steve,” Bucky mumbled, closing his eye again and rolling to his side, facing out towards the open living room. “I don’t deserve a guy like you.”

Steve was quiet for a long time, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked down at the side of Bucky’s head. “That’s not true.”

“Yeah, it is,” Bucky responded, trying to sound light and casual as he brought his hands up to tuck them under his cheek.

“Buck, stop.”

 _You shouldn’t want to be with me anyway_ , Bucky thought painfully. _Once you realize that, it’ll be easier for the both of us._

Steve bent over until his face was inches from Bucky’s. “Bucky, look at me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

“ _Bucky._ ”

He opened his glassy eyes a fraction, meeting Steve’s gaze. They looked at each other without saying anything until Steve let out a long sigh and pressed his lips against Bucky’s cheek.

“I love you,” Steve whispered. “And you don’t get to tell me otherwise.”

\--

The following morning marked two years of Steve being left behind. Orphaned. And the sadness ate at Steve so much, it made his stomach hurt. Rolling over in bed and seeing Bucky at his side was the only positive of the day and he relished in it, focusing on Bucky’s soft lips and dark lashes.

The day was predictably melancholy. After an extremely slow start to the morning, Steve and Bucky visited the Rogers’ graves, leaving flowers and kind words. Bucky gave Steve a moment alone with his parents and his heart broke as he watched from a few yards away. They took the long way home, bumping shoulders as Steve sniffed and wiped at his face quietly. Bucky treated him to a banana split with extra whipped cream at the soda fountain before they settled back in for the night at Steve’s apartment. 

They had a quick dinner, after which Steve just wanted to go straight to bed. Bucky stayed up in the living room for a while, trying to read, but getting sidetracked by his thoughts instead. Practically throwing his book on the floor, Bucky dropped his head into his hands. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Sarah was supposed to be alive and well. Steve was supposed to be happy and successful, able to live his life and love his partner in public. And Bucky wasn’t supposed to be this goddamn miserable, yet here he was.

He shuffled into Steve’s room, closing the door gently before pulling back half of the covers and easing into bed next to Steve. He was still awake, but didn’t say anything when Bucky slung an arm around his side. Steve just held his hand, exhausted and empty.

\--

“What do you want to do today, doll?” Bucky asked the next morning, leaning his backside against the kitchen sink and biting into a piece of toast.

Steve let out a long sigh and poked his spoon at the bowl of cereal in front of him. “I don’t know.”

“Why don’t we take a walk around Prospect Park later this afternoon? You can bring your sketchbook—get a head start on your final portfolio for school.”

One side of Steve’s mouth pulled up in a small smile. “That sounds alright.”

“Good,” Bucky grinned back, finishing his toast and brushing the crumbs from his fingers into the sink. “We’ll do that, then.”

The morning was uneventful, Steve and Bucky taking baths one after the other. The sky over the East River was dark, threatening rain, but they went out anyway while there were still blue skies over Brooklyn. They spent an hour or two wandering around the park, settling down on different benches and spots of grass for Steve to sketch whatever inspired him. One was a patch of bright yellow flowers, another a couple sitting together on a picnic blanket.

Steve was in a much better mood afterwards, telling Bucky that drawing was as good as anything to get him to stop thinking about things for a little while. On the way home, Steve suggested they stop at the candy store and Bucky happily obliged. Steve got his usual Reese’s, Bucky some Lifesavers, and they ate as they walked home. The big grey clouds had finally rolled in and a clap of thunder startled the both of them, Bucky dropping a few of his Lifesavers into the gutter. Steve laughed lightly until he felt a heavy raindrop land on his head.

The rain came down in sheets, cold and dense as Bucky and Steve practically ran the rest of the way to the apartment. Bursting through the front door, they each quickly peeled off their soaked clothes, Steve shaking like a leaf, his nose and ears pink. Bucky jogged into Steve’s room, threw open the armoire, and snatched up a pair of long underwear, a sweater, and thick socks.

He brought them into the living room where Steve was still shivering, completely naked, hair plastered to his head and face.

“Put these on,” Bucky said, handing the dry clothes to Steve.

As Steve shakily pulled on the long johns, Bucky bent down, grabbing their pile of wet clothes and walking down the hall to drop them heavily into the bathtub. He then went to his overnight bag sitting in a corner of Steve’s room and pulled out the first pajama-like things he could find. When Bucky reached the living room again, he found Steve on the couch, hugging his knees to his chest. Bucky padded over, settling down next to Steve and wrapping his arms tightly around him, rubbing Steve’s arms to warm him up.

Steve let out a loud sneeze.

“I’m making you some soup,” Bucky said firmly before kissing Steve’s forehead and rising to walk into the kitchen.

He quickly opened and heated a can of chicken soup, ladling all of it into a big bowl and bringing it to Steve still sitting on the sofa.

“Aren’t you having any?” Steve asked, gently blowing the steam from his spoonful.

“Nah, I’m okay,” Bucky answered, flopping onto the couch next to Steve.

Steve finished his soup and washed his bowl, despite Bucky’s objections, before settling back down next to him in the living room. They turned on the radio and listened to a series of comedies, adding their own snide remarks and laughing until tears ran from their eyes. One of the crackly voices let out a lewd double entendre and both Steve and Bucky involuntarily glanced to each other.

Steve bit his bottom lip. “You wanna—”

“Yes,” Bucky answered, taking Steve’s hand in his and running into the bedroom.

\--

Rain continued to spit on the dark window of Steve’s room, providing Bucky a very lonely soundtrack, tapping along behind his all-consuming thoughts.

Steve had fallen asleep an hour ago, he and Bucky facing each other, lying impossibly close. Bucky stared at him with glassy eyes and couldn’t help but feel like he was trying to memorize every detail of Steve’s face. The shape of his eyebrows. His uneven nose. Eyelashes light brown and impossibly long. His high, round cheekbones and soft jaw. The curves and outrageous color of his lips.

Bucky’s vision blurred as the first tears began to fall.

It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Bucky knew for a fact at least two of his boxing buddies weren’t in love with their fiancées, not really. One of his high school classmates was marrying a girl because of her family’s money. And one of the older guys from the smiths constantly joked about how much he hit his wife.

Why were all those couples allowed to get married and live “happily ever after” when he and Steve couldn’t? He and Steve who loved each other and treated each other with respect and devotion. He and Steve who had gone through so much together and still came out intact on the other side. He and Steve who didn’t do anything wrong, but fall in love with another _man_.

Bucky rolled to his back and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to stop the tears from flowing. It didn’t work, of course, and the more Bucky thought about trying _not_ to cry, the more he thought about _Steve_ , and that just made him cry harder.

Selfishly, Bucky wanted to just run away. Run away with Steve to a cottage somewhere in the middle of the country where they could have all the cats and dogs they wanted and spend all day in bed if they wanted and live their damn lives however they wanted.

But that also wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to hold Steve back in life, preventing him from succeeding as much as he should. It wasn’t fair to keep Steve all to himself, not when Bucky didn’t deserve him. And it wasn’t fair to keep dragging him through this game—this performance they had been a part of since the day they met.

The fact that they had to hide their relationship from the world was a great, big, looming storm cloud over their entire lives. Everything was calculated. They had to watch what they said to each other in public or how much they touched or how often they were seen together. It was a massively important part of their lives that they would never be able to share with anybody important to them.  

Bucky’s shoulders started shaking as he sobbed. Not wanting to wake Steve, he quietly slipped off the bed and out the door, heading to the bathroom. He sat on the toilet lid, head in his hands as he sucked in erratic, gasping breaths. He needed to finally make a decision and stop toying with Steve’s emotions and his future.

Bucky thought it without forming the words, but it still made him physically grimace, stomach roiling violently as he squeezed his eyes shut even tighter.

What was he supposed to do? He knew trying to talk to Steve about it would get them nowhere. Steve would just argue and refuse to listen to Bucky’s side, preferring to pretend that everything was going to be alright. Steve was smart, but reckless, and Bucky could never convince him to slow down and be smart about _them_. If Bucky couldn’t talk to Steve about the reality of their situation, he’d just have to commit and do what was best for both of them, even if it absolutely killed him.

It’d be easier, wouldn’t it? Save both of them a lot of pain and heartache? Why put themselves through a messy, roundabout disagreement when Bucky could just…walk away? A small voice in the back of Bucky’s head said that it was cowardly. All that talk about Steve not listening to him was just a way for Bucky to be able to live with himself after doing something so spineless.

His stomach roiled again.   

It wasn’t the right thing to do. It wasn’t. It was weak and ungentlemanly and no amount of bullshitting himself would truly convince Bucky otherwise. But the alternative felt even worse.

Sneaking back into Steve’s room, sniffling and empty, Bucky found a scrap piece of paper among Steve’s art things and picked up a pencil. His hand was shaking as he was trying to write and the entire time that small voice in his head just screamed vulgarities at him.

Steve had rolled to his other side and Bucky stepped lightly around the foot of the bed. He set the note on the pillow next to Steve’s head before kneeling on the floor, looking at Steve with red, raw eyes. He ghosted trembling fingers along Steve’s lips, Bucky’s face screwing up as he thought about all the kisses they’d never share.

He resisted the overwhelming urge to kiss Steve right there, for the last time, but he didn’t want to wake him. Instead, Bucky closed his eyes and tried to compose himself. He slowly stood, grabbing his bag from the corner of the room. With one last look at the back of Steve’s head, Bucky pressed his lips together and slipped out the door.


	3. November

NOVEMBER 1938

 

_Dollface,_

_Had to run out early—didn’t want to wake you. Family things._

_Don’t know if I’ll be able to get sodas Friday, I think I’ll have_

_to make up some work at the smiths._

_I love you so much. More than anything else on this earth._

_I’m sorry._

_Always,_

_Your Sugar_

 

Steve had read the note hundreds of times, but still couldn’t make sense of it.

When he first found it on his pillow that Monday morning, he didn’t think much of it. It was a little unusual for Bucky to leave without saying goodbye, but it wasn’t anything to be alarmed about. He hadn’t met Steve at the soda fountain that Friday and didn’t come over at all the weekend after.

Steve knew Bucky had been stressed out. A little burnt out at work, exhausted from his boxing training, and his parents had been putting pressure on him about anything and everything—as usual. It wasn’t enough for Steve to worry about until the next Friday rolled around and Bucky still didn’t meet him at the soda shop.

And he still didn’t come over that weekend.

It was at this point that Steve began to get nervous. Bucky was a grown man, capable of taking care of himself, but at this point, it was unusual behavior. They hadn’t been apart for this long since their breakup back when Steve was sixteen and the instant he had that realization, Steve’s stomach dropped.

No. That couldn’t possibly be it. Could it? And through a note? No. Bucky wouldn’t do that. Would he?

After class the following Wednesday, Steve swallowed his pride and went straight to the Barnes’ from school. He felt silly, like he was going over there to ask Bucky’s mother for permission to play with him. It was like he was twelve again.

Steve hesitated at the front stoop, wringing his hands together, suddenly doubting his plan. Maybe he was just overreacting. Bucky was probably fine and well, just busy. Or maybe there was some kind of family emergency going on. But regardless, Steve came to the conclusion that he needed to know, so he walked up the steps and knocked on the door.

After a few moments, it opened and Steve’s heart skipped a beat until he saw it was Mrs. Barnes on the other side.

“Steven,” she said kindly. “How are you?”

“I’m okay, Mrs. Barnes, thank you. I’m sorry to intrude, but I just wanted to make sure Bucky was alright. I haven’t seen him in a little while.”

She looked at him, confused. “He’s just fine, dear.”

Steve’s stomach rolled. “Oh. Is he home?”

“He hasn’t gotten home yet, no. But I’ll tell him you stopped by.”

Forcing a smile, Steve swallowed hard and said, “That would be swell. Thank you, Mrs. Barnes.”

He turned to step heavily down the stairs as she closed the door lightly behind him. That was definitely not what Steve wanted to hear. Obviously he didn’t want something to have actually happened to Bucky, that would be absolutely horrible, but now he didn’t know what to think. If Bucky wasn’t deathly ill, laid up in bed or out of town or dealing with some Barnes family issues, what was he doing? And why wasn’t he doing it with Steve anymore?

The denial was strong. The instant the terrible thought that Bucky had left Steve for good came creeping into his mind, Steve pushed it away, telling himself it would all be fine. Sooner rather than later, Bucky would come around and things would go back to normal.

But Bucky didn’t come around sooner _or_ later and by mid-November he was always conveniently _out_ or _busy_ at the gunsmiths, YMCA, and Barnes residence every time Steve asked. And he had asked. Every other day at each location until it started feeling ridiculous. That was when Steve’s denial morphed into anger. Steve knew it was at Bucky. He knew he was furious and terribly hurt and offended because of what Bucky had done, but he still wasn’t quite ready to face that yet. So instead, he found himself getting irritated at stupid things and making more reckless mistakes than usual. He’d accidentally burn himself on the stove or forget he started to run a bath until it overflowed. He lost his house key and relied too much on the spare always being where it was supposed to be. If a stranger gave him a funny look on the train, he would puff out his chest and glare back.  

Steve spent his days irritated and snappy, but the nights were worse. He would crawl into bed, pissed off, trying his damnedest push the thoughts of Bucky out of his mind. Steve didn’t _want_ to think about him. He was furious and so incredibly heartbroken and it was easier to get mad about everything else in his life than it was to accept the fact that Bucky had truly abandoned him with no hint or warning.

It went on for weeks, this pattern of anger and denial. On the evening before Thanksgiving, Steve was at the grocery, alone, looking at all the turkey and pies he couldn’t afford or eat all by himself when a stranger purposefully shoved him in the shoulder walking by, mumbling something offensive. Unable to pick his battles or shut his mouth, Steve ended up in the alley behind the store, getting positively wrecked. He put up a fairly good fight, getting in a few good solid hits before a gut punch knocked Steve to the ground, taking the breath out of him.

He stomped all the way home, grumbling, clutching his crumpled bag of groceries under one arm and pinching the bridge of his nose with the other, trying to keep the blood in. After awkwardly setting the bag down to unlock the front door (with the spare key), Steve barged in and shoved two corners of a handkerchief in his nose before angrily putting the food away, cabinets slamming shut.

After taking a short, cold bath, Steve patched himself up best he could and flopped into bed, exhausted and empty. The apartment was silent save for the faint ticking of the clock from down the hall. It was deafening and all of a sudden, Steve couldn’t think about anything but the nights he and Bucky had shared in that very bed and he finally completely and wholly broke down.

All of the pain and misery he had been shoving behind a big wall of anger and denial was all of a sudden too much and Steve found himself balled up under the covers, positively sobbing, missing Bucky so much he could hardly breathe.

What happened? What had Steve done to completely ruin everything they had together? Ruin it to the point that Bucky seemingly didn’t think it was worth an actual conversation, but just a stupid note left on Steve’s pillow. He was mad. He was so overwhelmingly mad at Bucky for doing something so pathetic, but he was also more heartbroken than he’d ever imagined possible.

Losing his mother was painful in a different way, but Steve sought comfort in the fact that she had no control over her situation and loved him through the end.

Bucky _chose_ to leave him and that was what wrecked Steve to a point he had never experienced before.

He didn’t have the energy to put up a façade anymore, not even for himself, so Steve laid in bed and cried himself to sleep, feeling entirely inadequate and unwanted.

\--

What Steve didn’t know was that same night had been the fourteenth time since the note that Bucky had started walking to Steve’s, determined and so impossibly sorry he didn’t know how to articulate it. And it was the fourteenth time Bucky talked himself out of it, reminding himself that it was a terribly selfish thing to do. Bucky made this miserable bed and now he has to lie in it, no matter how much he regrets or hates it. He had decided he needed to stop dragging Steve around through their impossible future—it wasn’t fair and it was getting both of them nowhere. This was better, for both of them, even if it didn’t feel like it at first.

But it also didn’t feel like it at a week in, or two weeks in, or five weeks in. It felt like the absolute worst thing Bucky had ever experienced and he had made it this way. None of it got easier. Hiding in his room at home, or sneaking into the back alley at work, or asking his boxing friends to lie to Steve about where he was never felt good. It never felt _okay_ or _right_ or even _forgivable_ , if Bucky was being honest. It was gut-wrenching every time and whenever Bucky was in a position to hear Steve’s voice, hear him ask “is Bucky around?” or even worse, “I just want to make sure Bucky’s okay,” he’d have to squeeze his eyes shut and remind himself that’s just how life was going to be. Bucky didn’t make the rules, but he had to follow them like everybody else, regardless of his opinion about it. He couldn’t help but think Steve would dispute that, though, and despite everything, it made Bucky smile every time he thought about it.

It was night fifteen that ended up being the one that did Bucky in.

It was a dreary Saturday night in late November. It had snowed the day before, huge, wet flakes that stuck to everything and turned the roads to big, muddy slush pits. Snow was on the forecast again tonight and the sky was murky and grey, the orange lights of the city looking almost suspended in it.

Bucky was out with his best boxing pals, hidden in a smoky corner table of a busy bar by the Brooklyn train station. George and Frank were playing gin rummy as Jimmy and Bucky watched, passing a cigarette between them.

“I get winner,” Jimmy declared, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke towards the ceiling.

“You wanna play, Bucky?” Frank asked, looking at him with thin eyebrows raised high.

Blinking a few times, Bucky looked back. “What? Oh, nah, that’s okay.”

“You alright, Buck?” Jimmy asked, cautiously.

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed as he ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I’ve, uh…I’m fine. Just some…stuff…goin’ on.”

“Is this ‘stuff’ whatever’s happened between you and Steve?” Jimmy replied, quiet, dark eyes boring into Bucky’s.

Bucky swallowed hard and forced himself to sound convincing. “I told you, we got in a fight.”

Jimmy didn’t seem the least bit convinced, but didn’t press the issue further as he turned slowly back towards the rummy game, Bucky trying to control the color of his cheeks.

“So, George,” Frank began, taking on a dramatic tone. “You’re gonna be a married man in a few months, huh?”

“That’s right,” George answered, taking a card from the pile in the middle of the table. “It’s been nice knowin’ you fellas,” he joked, looking around at each of them.

Bucky very pointedly sucked on the cigarette, taking a long inhale while the other three laughed.

“Nah,” George continued, pulling a small smile. “It’ll be nice. She’s a real swell girl.”

“’A real swell girl?’” Jimmy repeated. “My dog’s a ‘real swell girl,’ George, this is your fiancée.”

“Well, what d’you want me to say? She’s my damn soulmate or somethin’ dumb like that?”

“Is she?” Bucky asked earnestly, getting stares from all three men.

“Does it matter?” George asked, genuinely confused by the question. “She’s cute, nice, knows how to cook and do the washing. Gets along with my mother—don’t know how that happened. Is there much else to really want?”

“Would you maybe want to be in love with her?” Jimmy asked, slightly incredulous.

George just shrugged. “My folks aren’t. Never were, didn’t stop them from havin’ an alright life.”

“That’s about the saddest thing I ever heard,” Jimmy answered as Frank laid down his winning rummy hand.

George scoffed and threw down his cards. “Like you’d do it any different,” he mumbled, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

“I would,” Jimmy replied, shuffling the deck of cards and lying ten in front of both Frank and himself. “It’s gotta feel right. You can’t just pick some dame up off the street ‘cause she’s cute and decide to marry her.”

“You really believe in all that true love and fairy tale bullshit, Jim?” George asked.

“Well, sure.”

“Oh, come on—”

“I’m serious. What’s so wrong with that? It’s special and it’s worth waitin’ for if you ask me.”

George pursed his lips. “It’s all a bunch of hooey the pictures spit out so all the Bug-Eyed Betties out there think they actually have a chance o’ finding their own damn ‘Prince Charming.’ It’s just sad.”

“ _You’re_ what’s sad, George,” Jimmy responded in a gentle tone. “My Mom and Pop had it. I saw it. There’s somthin’ different about the real thing, I’m tellin’ y.’ And they didn’t have it easy either. Families hated each other, had for generations. ‘Cording to my dad, his folks thought her family was too poor, to low class to marry their son, but did it stop ‘em? Nope. They went against everything everybody else was sayin’ because they _knew_ they had somethin’ special. And they _did_ live happily ever after ‘cause of it.”

George aggressively rolled his eyes, but couldn’t get a response out before Frank let out a long exhale and said, “I had a gal like that once.”

“And what happened?” George prompted, trying to coax an answer out of Frank that would help his case.

“I messed it all up.”

“How?” Bucky asked quietly, wringing his hands together.

Frank let out another long breath as he arranged his hand of cards. “We went together all through high school and she was just…she was the bee’s knees. She was beautiful and smart and funny. She was kind and easy to be with and I just…I really loved her. Then she wanted to get married right after graduation, start settlin’ down and havin’ babies and it was about the scariest damn thing I ever heard. So I broke it off. I didn’t really want to, but I was too terrified to stick around and figure it out.”

“But you’re fine now, right?” George prodded. “Found a new gal or two and it was just the same?”

“No,” Frank replied, looking at George with an affronted look. “I think about her every damn day and every damn day I wish I could take it back.”

“Where is she now?” Jimmy asked, temporarily setting his cards down to put his full attention on Frank.

He shrugged. “Boston, I think? I dunno. She married some other guy who _was_ keen to settle down. Popped out a kid or two already. Probably doesn’t even spare a rare second thinkin’ ‘bout me.”

They all fell silent. The music of the bar took overtook their table and Bucky passed the smoke to Jimmy.

“Point is,” Frank sighed, “you have a gal like that? You can’t jus’ let her go. You can’t. ‘Cause what’re the odds of ever findin’ that again?”

“See?” Jimmy said, looking at George and motioning to Frank. “Actual, real life, love, George. It exists. And not everybody gets to have it. Folks that do? Those lucky bastards better know what they got while they got it.”

“I have to go,” Bucky blurted suddenly, his friends each staring surprised at him.

“Everything alright?” Jimmy asked, tentative.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathed, pulling on his coat, taking one last shaky drag on the cigarette. “I just…I need to go. See you guys Tuesday.”

\--

Steve was curled up on the sofa with a mug of tea, hair damp from a bath, listening quietly to the phonograph next to him. He had been mindlessly playing his mother’s favorite records since Bucky had dumped him, finding a small semblance of comfort in them, though it didn’t make him feel _that_ much better.

The snow fell heavily outside. Steve watched through the living room window as the thick flakes settled against the panes of glass, freezing quickly. There were a few inches on the ground already and it wasn’t expected to clear up until tomorrow afternoon.

Steve sighed as the song ended and he reset the needle to play “Cheek to Cheek” for the eighth time in a row, memories of both his mom and Bucky floating in his mind. He dropped his head into a hand, massaging his temples and trying not to cry.

There was a sudden, urgent knocking at the front door and Steve started, nearly spilling tea all over himself.

The knocking came again and Steve clenched his jaw. The force of the knocks and the time of night made Steve wary and he slipped quietly off the sofa, shuffling to the door in wool socks. He unlocked and opened it a few inches, sticking his head out to see what it was.

Bucky was standing on the front walk, his cheeks, nose, and ears red with the cold, eyes glassy, and his hair practically white from the snow settling on it. The shoulders of his coat were soaked through along with the knees of his trousers and his bare hands were shoved in his armpits.

“Hey.”

Steve stared at him, wild eyed and unable to form a response. The number and strength of emotions that coursed through him, just looking at Bucky sniffling, pathetically hunched over in the snow, froze Steve for a moment, but concern took precedence and he opened the door wider, ushering Bucky inside, to the warmth.

Neither of them spoke as they both automatically walked down the hall. Steve turned into his bedroom to grab a pair of socks and the biggest sweater and pajama pants he had as Bucky continued into the bathroom, stripping off his wet clothes and shaking out his hair over the bathtub. He was standing on the tile in his boxers and t-shirt when Steve walked into the doorway. He wordlessly handed the clothes over and turned on his heel, stomping back to the couch.

After a few minutes, Bucky stepped out of the hallway, dry and warm as the ninth “Cheek to Cheek” crackled from the phonograph.

“Steve—”

Steve put his hand up and pressed his lips together, squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn’t bring himself to look Bucky in the eyes, so he stared at the rug instead, head in his hands. As the music died down, he could hear Bucky’s uneven breathing and quiet sniffles. When Steve finally looked up, he saw Bucky sitting heavily on the floor between the hall and the living room, knees up, his head hidden by wide hands, his back and shoulders trembling.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Steve whispered, hoarse.

Bucky didn’t look up for a long while and when he did, his eyes were red and puffy, nose leaking onto the sleeves of Steve’s sweater.

“Steve, I am so, _so_ sorry,” Bucky croaked. “I don’t…” but he couldn’t finish the thought, shaking and dropping his head again.

Steve stared at him from across the painfully quiet room.

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?” Steve said again, louder and more unhinged.

Bucky winced, but forced himself to look up at Steve.

“A _note_?” Steve continued, feeling the dam starting to break inside of him. “After everything we’ve been through, you leave me a goddamn _note_?”

Bucky looked to the ceiling, taking a hitched breath in. “I thought it would be better.”

“ _Better_?” Steve asked, high pitched and unbelieving. “Better for _who_?”

“For both of us,” Bucky whispered.

“Don’t give me that goddamn horseshit,” Steve growled back, voice thick. “You are a lot of things, James Barnes, but I didn’t think _coward_ was one of them.”

“I know, I—” Bucky worked his jaw and looked back at Steve, more tears rolling down his cheeks. “I messed up, Steve. Okay? I thought it’d be better if we just…continued on separate paths. I thought I was bad for you, like I was holding you back, preventing you from living as fully and as successfully as I know you could. I felt like we were just playing at some damn game that was going to end, whether we liked it or not, and if we didn’t have a plan for afterwards, then what? You know I love you, Steve. I love you more—” he cut off suddenly, trying to control the feelings pouring out.

Steve let out a long breath and ran his hands down his face. “Bucky, that doesn’t mean you get to decide what’s best for me. And you can’t run around making decisions about _us_ without including me in them.”

“I know and I’m sorry. I just knew if I tried to talk to you about it, you wouldn’t listen. Steve, we’ve had that conversation a thousand times and you never wanted to _listen_ to my side of it.”

“That doesn’t mean you just get to _run away_ ,” Steve cried, throat tightening. “That’s not how this works, Buck. When things get tough, you don’t just _give up_. We’re supposed to be a team, remember?”

Bucky closed his eyes, pressing his lips together to stop them from trembling. “I know and I was wrong,” he forced out, low and warbly before meeting Steve’s gaze again. “I thought it’d be better for us to live ‘normal’ lives, like everyone else, but I should have remembered that you are unlike anyone else.”

Bucky looked at him, chin quivering, as Steve too tried to contain the myriad of emotions he was feeling all at once.

“Steve, that’s what I love about you. And I’m sorry it took me this long to realize that never in a million years would I ever meet someone else like you. Someone who makes me feel like you do. Someone as wonderful and deserving of the world as you. And if I’m lucky enough to have you be in love with me too, then I’d be the biggest goddamn fool in the entire world to let you go.”

Steve clenched his jaw and crossed his arms, unable to look Bucky in the eye as the floodgates finally opened. Bucky shakily pushed himself to stand, bounding over to kneel on the floor in front of Steve. He pulled gently at Steve’s arms to take ahold of his hands, squeezing and rubbing his knuckles.  

“I am so sorry, doll. And I’ll say it as long as I have to. I’m so, so sorry.”

Steve looked at their hands, silently reveling in the feeling of their skin touching for the first time in weeks. It was like life had been breathed back into Steve’s body.

“I’m so goddamn mad at you,” he grumbled, meeting Bucky’s eyes. “I’m _so_ _god damn_ mad at you.”

“You should be,” Bucky whispered back, completely serious. “What I did? Steve, I just…it was the biggest mistake of my life and I just hope you can forgive me for it.”

Steve pulled a hand out of Bucky’s grasp to wipe at his cheeks and nose.

“This is it, Bucky,” he said, so quiet Bucky almost didn’t hear him. “You ever pull another stunt like this, I’m done, Buck…I can’t do this again. D’you understand how I’ve been feeling these past few weeks? Like _I_ did somethin’ wrong that pushed you away, except I couldn’t figure out what. I went through what it could have been—everything from our sex lives to the fact that I had spent that whole weekend blubbering about my mom…”

Bucky recoiled, horrified that Steve would ever consider that as something Bucky would leave him over. “Steve, I would never—”

“No, let me finish.” He looked at Bucky with an intensity in his eyes that made Bucky carefully let go of Steve’s other hand. “I thought it was _me_ because what else could it have been? You obviously didn’t want to talk about it or try to figure somethin’ out, but that’s what you’re supposed to do, Buck. If you have a problem with me, you have t’ _say_ something about it.”

Bucky looked at him, a heartbreaking expression on his face. “It had nothing to do with you, Steve. You did absolutely nothing wrong.”

“And how was I supposed to know that, huh? How was I supposed to know that from that stupid goddamn _note_?”

Bucky had no response. Steve was right, as usual, and Bucky felt absolutely terrible. “I know, Steve,” he sniffled. “I know I made a painfully stupid mistake, but I need you to know that I did it because I thought it was right. I thought it was, realistically, the best thing for both of us long-term.”

“How could you think that?” Steve asked, his voice dropping from angry to deeply hurt.

Letting out a long sigh, Bucky took Steve’s hands in his again. “We can never get married Steve. We can never get a house together or have a family. We can’t even hold hands in public. We could lose our jobs or our freedom or—hell—our goddamn _lives_ if we slip up in front of the wrong people. We can never be open about us and I just thought that was no way to live, not really. Constantly looking over our shoulders, watching what we say. It’d be awful.”

“But we’d be together,” Steve replied, quiet. “And wouldn’t that make it all worth it?”

Bucky closed his eyes as a few more tears rolled down his cheeks. He felt Steve pull a hand out of his to gently wipe them away.

“Hey, sugar, look at me,” Steve whispered. Bucky blinked open his eyes as Steve took a gentle hold of his chin. “You got a problem with me, talk to me about it. If you ever want to break up because of who I am, fine. But, Bucky, I need you to stop making decisions about _us_ solely based on the thoughts or actions of other people.”

Letting out a shaky breath, Bucky tried giving Steve a small smile. “Okay. You’re right. But you have to promise to actually listen to me when I try to talk to you.”

“I will,” Steve said, sighing heavily.

They both looked at each other, searching in the other’s eyes.

Steve pursed his lips suddenly, trying to hide his smile and dropped his head. “So…you sayin’ you’d really want to marry me, Buck?”

Bucky playfully rolled his eyes, flushing. “I told you before, doll, a million times. I’m with you, ‘til the end of the line.”

Steve couldn’t hide his smile anymore and the sight made Bucky melt. He stood up, letting go of Steve’s hands and wiping at his face. Bucky looked down at Steve with a lightness in his heart that he hadn’t felt in much too long.

Rubbing a hand against the back of his neck, Bucky shyly asked, “Can I, uh, can I wear these clothes home? I’ll bring ‘em back clean.”

Steve crossed his arms again, shifting on the sofa. “No.”

“…no?” Bucky replied, surprised and a little confused.

“No,” Steve repeated before slipping off the couch to take a few steps towards Bucky, staring up at him intensely. “I need you outta those right now.”

The fiery look in Steve’s eyes made Bucky's stomach leap and he started to stiffen. “Okay.”

Bucky stood frozen in the living room until Steve raised an eyebrow at him. With fumbling hands, Bucky began to peel off pieces of clothing, one by one, dropping them silently to the floor as Steve just watched. When he was down to only his boxers, Bucky noticed Steve’s growing hardness too, which gave him a bit of confidence as he pushed his waistband down and stepped out of his underwear.

Steve let out a wistful sigh, eyeing Bucky up and down. Meeting his gaze, he simply said, “I missed you.”

Bucky’s immediate reaction was to amusedly roll his eyes and scoff at Steve’s cheekiness, but it was too real and Bucky was feeling too raw to pretend like he hadn’t missed Steve with his whole heart too.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Bucky responded, putting his arms out.

Steve looked at him with an expression that said a hundred different things. _I missed you. I’m still mad at you. I want you. I love you._ He bounded forward, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck and pulling him down for a rough and needy kiss. They sucked desperately at each other’s mouths, messy and urgent as if they’d never done it before, Bucky letting out little sighs as Steve unabashedly moaned into Bucky’s mouth. Steve slipped a hand between them, heatedly massaging Bucky’s bare length before awkwardly pushing down his own pants. Bucky dug his hands into Steve’s ass cheeks, holding him in place as Bucky rolled his hips against him. Steve broke their kiss, breathing heavy, and braced his hands on Bucky’s shoulders to lightly jump off the floor. Bucky caught Steve’s leap, skin slapping together as his hands took the weight of Steve falling into them before wrapping his legs around Bucky’s waist. Steve sucked on Bucky’s tongue and tugged at his hair as he rolled his hips, pressing his and Bucky’s cocks tightly between their bodies.

Letting out a shuddering groan, Steve dropped his head into the crook of Bucky’s neck, trying to catch his breath.

“Hey,” Bucky whispered, faint, as he moved one hand up to place it reassuringly between Steve’s sharp shoulder blades. “You okay?”  

Steve gave a small nod, lifting his head to look Bucky in the eye. After taking a few deep breaths, he said, “I love you, Bucky Barnes. And I don’t like fighting with you,” he leaned back a fraction to point a finger at Bucky’s face, “but I swear to God if you ever disrespect me like that again, I will be livid and you will know about it.”

Bucky knew Steve was dead serious, but the fact that he was trying to be intimidating while currently sat in Bucky’s arms, dick out, just made Bucky want to smile. Then completely ravage him.  

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” Steve said, annoyed, but grinning back. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are,” Bucky replied, smile fading. “And I wouldn’t expect any less from you. You keep me on my toes, Steve. You make me better.”

Steve looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, but instead of saying anything back, he pressed forward, setting his hands lightly on either side of Bucky’s face, and kissed him tenderly. As they continued licking into each other’s mouths, both started hardening again and the passionate fire reignited between them.

Bucky took careful and heavy steps down the hall with Steve in his arms, kissing at Bucky’s face and neck.

“The jelly’s already in my room,” Steve breathed, teeth grazing one of Bucky’s earlobes.

“Oh, it is?” Bucky teased, pulling back to give him a smirk.

“You weren’t around, what was I supposed to do?” Steve shot back, suppressing a smile.

Bucky grinned and kicked the door open, walking to the side of the bed. He turned, sitting down on the crumpled sheets as Steve shifted his knees to rest on the mattress. Steve set his hands on Bucky’s chest, gently rubbing fingers against skin and through hair before splaying his palms out on Bucky’s pecs and forcefully shoving him down to the bed. Bucky let out a surprised “oof” as his back bounced lightly on the mattress, Steve looking smugly down at him from his spot straddling Bucky’s hips. It was the hottest thing Bucky had ever seen.

They spent the rest of the night in bed together, Steve pushing Bucky around in a way that made Bucky swoon, heat and hearts in his eyes. After Steve had fallen asleep, exhausted and satisfied, Bucky watched him for a little while, painfully reminded of the night he had left. How he did it, Bucky didn’t quite know anymore. Looking at Steve’s soft face now, Bucky didn’t know how he had ever walked away from him. But Bucky had had himself so convinced that he was doing the right thing that looking back, he wasn’t sure trying to talk to Steve at that point would have changed anything anyway.

Bucky let out a long sigh, running a thumb gently along Steve’s cheek. Were the challenges Bucky was afraid of them facing still relevant? Yes. Were things going to be any easier for them? No. But no matter what happened, Bucky finally wholeheartedly believed that he could face anything the world wanted to throw at him as long as he and Steve were facing it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, folks, I know this one was a bit of a doozy. Though, editing it, I'm not sure how well I introduced and developed Bucky's internal conflict. It's been around for a few years, so I'm hoping that makes the sudden shift more believable. Also, life happens. Sometimes you're totally okay with something (or in denial about it) then all of a sudden BOOM everything changes and you have to rethink your whole life. 
> 
> Also, not gonna lie, there were multiple times writing this that I made myself cry LOL And I had a TOTAL Joan Wilder (Romancing the Stone) moment at the end here, writing it, teary, going "oh god, that's good." I told my sister a few years ago that I'm going to turn into Ms Wilder and it's happening. Already have the attitude and cats too. 
> 
> Again, thank you all for reading and kudos-ing and commenting. It really just makes my week, it makes me excited for each day, as pathetic as that sometimes feels. But thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> Not gonna lie, that "some day my prince will come" thing when Bucky's waiting around for Steve is one of the cutest fucking things I've ever thought of, not even sorry for saying it


End file.
